


am i ok yet?

by flower_syndrome



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Minor Angst, Wholesome, the squip doesn’t exist cuz screw that, this has no swearing in it so if you’re sensitive to that then do not fret!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 04:36:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16443059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flower_syndrome/pseuds/flower_syndrome
Summary: After hours of persuasion, two power-points and one motivational monologue, Christine has successfully managed to convince Brooke to audition for the spring play. Problems arise when Brooke, not only realizes that her acting leaves much to be desired, but also realizes that maybe the fuzzy feeling she gets in her chest when Christine talks to her isn’t normal.





	am i ok yet?

"Christine, I—I don't know, I'm really not—"

 

"Oh, c'mon, Brooke, please? Just audition! It doesn't matter if you get the part or not, what matters is that you get a little taste of what acting is all about! You've been under a lot of stress because of the your natural sciences essay, and I promise this is going to make you feel at ease," she throws her arms in the air, doing some exaggerated jazz hands in order to somehow convince me to go through with this.

 

"A-At ease? Christine, I can't act! All this is going to do is make me stress out even more," I play with my jacket nervously, the seams coming loose the more and more I fidget.

 

"Hey," she stands on her tippy toes and attempts to match my height, "I know this is a lot, okay? But trust me on this. You're worried about the future, correct?"

 

"C-Correct, but—"

 

"In theatre you don't have to worry about the future. You know exactly what's going to happen next! You have a script in front of you that tells you how to act, and how to not mess up. It might be hard, but you just have to relax. Your muscles look tense. It's going to be alright, trust me," Christine takes both of my hands in hers as she enthusiastically gestures them around and I avert my eyes immediately, a fuzzy feeling emerging in my chest.

 

I look down at Christine smiling up at me brightly, and then my eyes nervously dart back down to my script. I only have two little paragraphs that Christine high-lighted for me. I told her that I wanted to be a background character, and she gleefully accepted that as a success, even though she wanted me to play a larger role.

 

Seconds after I told her, she scanned through her entire binder filled with every script she's ever had to read on stage, every dress recital date, every rehearsal schedule and every single date that she had to perform. The binder could barely close because of how jam-packed it was.

 

After scanning through her scripts, she found a short little two-paragraph monologue that she recommended I read to the drama teacher for my audition. She said that it didn't have too much emotion in it, so I didn't have to over-act, but it also had just enough emotion in it to make my performance not seem bland.

 

Now, here's the issue: I can't act.

 

I totally get that acting is a skill, and maybe if I put my heart and soul into it I'd be able to improve. I mean, for God's sake, just look at Jeremy Heere. From ages ten to sixteen he could barely talk to anyone who wasn't Michael without almost spontaneously bursting into tears. Now he's straight up doing live performances for hundreds of people.

 

I strive to have that kind of persistence, but I just don't. I don't know much about theatre but I know enough to know that theatre is impossible to have as just a side hobby. It's a whole lifestyle.

 

Christine came out of the womb quoting Shakespeare. She was born for this kind of thing. She loves the adrenaline, the illusion of control, the applause. She loves theatre, point in black.

 

I, however, did not. I liked to blend in. My body physically rejects adrenaline. If anything mildly intimidating happens to me whatsoever, my nerve system doesn't trigger its fight or flight response. Instead my body tells me to freeze, and sometimes when my nerve system decides it's necessary because it's feeling more douchebag-esque than usual, I throw up.

 

If I go up on stage and I freeze, and if all odds are against me and I vomit everywhere, then this will most likely be the end of my life. It's been a good seventeen years, and whether or not those years will continue or abruptly come to an end, is entirely up to whether or not I can manage to compose myself when I read out my two paragraphs.

 

Christine and I are anxiously waiting in our chairs, watching each person read out their script—well, I mean, _I'm_ anxiously waiting. Christine's leg is bouncing up and down in excitement, so I guess the whole "anxiously waiting" tagline doesn't necessarily apply to her.

 

My eye twitches and I nervously wait for my name to be called. Christine has the biggest smile on her face and somehow that calms me. I take a shaky breath and tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear, my hand shaking while doing so.

 

In the corner of my eye I see a blob plop themselves next to Christine. Upon further inspection, it was Jeremy, and it literally took no longer than three seconds for them to start ranting about some theatre inside joke that I do not, and probably never will, understand.

 

It feels like a stake in the heart. I always find that connecting with Christine is incredibly difficult for me. I thought it was a universal thing, honestly. She talks so much and she expects you to know exactly what she's talking about. Not necessarily in an arrogant way, but in the way of the fact that she completely forgets that not everyone loves theatre.

 

So she references it heavily whenever she has a conversation with anyone, waits for them to laugh, they don't, suddenly she is reminded of the fact that this person doesn't know everything about theatre. It's kinda endearing actually. Everything about Christine is endearing...

 

Ignoring that—I just always thought that Christine was just in general a hard person to talk to, but everyone else is clicking so well with her without even trying. Her and Jeremy are best friends, Jenna and her get along really well, she and Michael share music playlists every week, hell, even Chloe somehow managed to befriend Christine fairly easily.

 

And here I am. Brooke Lohst. Sure, I managed to be her friend, but whenever I talk to her my vision goes hazy and I can almost feel the world swaying under my feet. I couldn't exactly pinpoint what emotion this was supposed to convey, but I was guessing it was just the intensity of it all. I so badly wanted to reply in the best way possible, I so badly wanted to say something that would peak her interest, I so badly want her to like me.

 

I never get this feeling around any of my other friends, so what is it about Christine?

 

Am I just trying too hard? Am I trying too hard to be her friend? I mean, obviously she considers me a friend, right?

 

Right?

 

I mean, if she wasn't my friend she probably wouldn't be so adamant on me getting my mind off my (very worrying) natural sciences essay. That's what friends are for, right? Christine Canigula is my friend. I'm her friend. Christine and I are friends.

 

My nose scrunches up instinctively. Something in my gut tells me that something is off about that sentence. I was about to question why until the booming voice that I previously zoned out came back into play.

 

"Christine Canigula, can you please come to stage? Christine Canigula."

 

Christine practically squeals in excitement. Jeremy shoots her a massive smile and she gives him a high-five that echoes across the entire assembly hall. I bit my lip, wondering if I should give any words of encouragement before she goes up on stage. Not that she necessarily needs it. She's practically already oozing with confidence.

 

Suddenly, without my brain's permission, my hand flies to her shoulder. She turns around and looks up at me quizzically.

 

My brain feels like it's overheating before I stumble out a brief: "Y-You're going to be amazing."

 

Christine gives me a massive toothy grin, and I can feel myself return a small lopsided smile. My hand takes a minute to drop and it takes a hot second for the warmth in my cheeks to die down.

 

Christine runs on stage. She never showed her performances to anyone before she had a chance to audition with it first. She said performing it to you privately before the auditions are even over 'spoils the surprise.' All I know is that she's doing something from Macbeth.

 

She took a deep breath and cleared her throat, probably to add suspense. I feel a grin hit my face. Typical Christine.

 

She starts, her voice quiet: "Is this a dagger which I see before me, the handle toward my hand?" Every now and then she'd enunciate a word. Like how she said dagger with a hard 'R' and said handle and hand in the same tone of voice, like her vocal chords were dripping with venom, every syllable and consonant sharp.

 

"Come! Let me clutch thee," she says louder, before her voice goes back down to a midtone, "I have thee not, and yet I see thee still." Her voice echoes across the empty assembly hall, peaking everyone's interest.

 

"Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible," she emphasizes, "To feeling as to sight? Or art thou but a dagger of the mind, a false creation, proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?"

 

I'm going to be one hundred percent honest and just admit that I barely understand Shakespearian English. Almost nothing she is saying is making any sense to me, yet somehow it's still interesting. But somehow I still want to hear more. I want to hear how she treats every word with caution, every syllable taken cared of carefully, every consonant and vowel sharp on her tongue.

 

She continues on with the monologue, every time she ends a sentence there was a silence, where the tension in the air was thick, if only for just a second. I was completely entranced by it.

 

After a good few minutes of monologuing, it seems to come to a close as her voice gets slower and quieter: "Thou sure and firm-set earth, hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear thy very stones prate of my whereabout, and take the present horror from the time which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives: words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives," she finishes off, every word hanging in the air for a little while.

 

  She finishes and her previously calm and professional façade fades and she lets out a big goofy grin as everyone stands up to applaud. People whistle, people yell unintelligible encouragement, and it's all around just a big, mushy, wholesome event.

 

  I look around me and I can't help but to feel a sense of longing in my heart. These people are all wordlessly bonding over their biggest passions: Theatre. And I'm just some stranger who doesn't know anything about it. My blood runs cold and I suddenly feel like a fraud. Just a fraud, an absolute—

 

  "Brooke Lohst? Can Brooke Lohst please come forward?" I hear the announcer's voice. I almost start crying.

 

  Christine is obviously still coming off her high from her performance that was no less than half a minute ago, so she couldn't stand up and instill me with false confidence, which somehow made the situation ten times worse.

 

  Luckily enough, Jeremy jumped by my side instantly and pulled me into a brief half-hug, giving me the biggest smile he could muster, "You're gonna do great, Brooke!"

 

  Somehow, that gave me all the confidence I needed.

 

  Correction: That gave me enough confidence to walk on stage. However, not necessarily enough confidence ro actually begin speaking.

 

I realized quickly that I just need to get this over with. I close my eyes, let out a shaky breath and swallow down any worries I have. When I open my eyes I momentarily scan the crowd and I lock eyes with Christine, who's watching me with full concentration. I bite my lip and look at her, hoping she'll get the message. She makes a little hand gesture that probably means: 'C'mon, get a move on.'

 

  Okay. I am no longer Brooke Lohst. I am now Miranda from The Tempest. I can do this.

 

  I start off fairly strong, my voice only wavering slightly as I begin, "I-If by your art, my dearest father, you have put the wild waters in this roar, allay them," I feel a wave of relief flood over me. One sentence down, Brooke. C'mon you can do this.

 

  "Th-The sky, it seems... would pour down stinking pitch," I almost curse out loud because I hesitated for a minute, leaving an uncomfortable and unwanted dip in the middle of my sentence, "But that the sea, mounting to the weklin's cheek, dashes the fire out."

 

  I said that part without stuttering! Okay, okay, Brooke. Christine believes in you. Jeremy believes in you. All these random people in the crowd believe in—

 

  All these random people in the crowd.

 

  There are dozens of people staring at me right now.

 

  Suddenly I lose my cool. I don't feel as calm, my voice doesn't feel so steady, and my throat goes dry: "O, I-I... I have suff-suffered, with those that I... that I saw suffer," I grit my teeth because I can physically feel it in my chest how out of place every unwarranted pause and stutter sounded, "A brave vessel, who had... no doubt, some noble creature in her, dash'd all to pieces," I regain myself. My breath hitches, and it's definitely noticeable.

 

  I close my eyes, thinking: 'What I can't see can't hurt me. Just keep talking.' I try to ignore my surroundings and I recite what I remember: "O, the cry did knock," I try to vary my tone slightly, hoping that I can somewhat redeem myself, "Against my very heart." I regain control over my house and the flow of the paragraph returns.

 

  "Poor souls, they perish'd. Had I been any god of power, I would have sunk the sea with...within—" I stutter a bit but I refuse to let it hold me back. Christine's counting on me. "Within the earth or ere. It should the good ship so have swallow'd and the fraughting souls within her."

 

  I open my eyes slowly, waiting for any criticism to cut through the awkward tension that I'd built with all my stuttering, but to my surprise people clapped. In hindsight, people clapped for every act, even the ones that were mediocre, so I wasn't completely convinced, but I still felt relieved that they didn't boo me.

 

  Instead of bowing, I just nod awkwardly and speed-walk off stage, half of my face obscured with my hair as I hurriedly seat myself, my face burning.

 

  Jeremy clapped me back on the back, "You did great, Brooke!"

 

  Christine, on the other hand, was shaking with excitement. She grabbed a hold of my shoulders and shook me violently, "Brooke! You did it! You did so well, I'm so proud of you! You're gonna rock that role. You're gonna be the best goddamn background character this theater has ever seen!" She starts rambling really excitedly and I can't make half of it out, bur I heard a lot of 'Brooke's' and 'I'm proud of you!'s.'

 

  My fists unclench, my shoulders lose their tenseness, my body relaxes, my mind is clear and my breath goes steady. I idly let my body lean against Christine for a little while, because that performance sucked all the energy I had out of me. She takes little notice, rambling on about how happy she is that I'm actually taking theatre seriously, et cetera, et cetera.

 

  Before I dozed off, I felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around my shoulders.


End file.
